


Unkindled

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Meh, Multi, What Ifs, vaguely DS inspired, wolves always survive winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 00:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10524867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: The favourable impression left on a young mind propels the fragmented wolf pack back into the Crown's attention.AU! En route to the Wall, the young, impressionable Aegon heedlessly steps into the midst of a decade long conflict between the members of House Stark. When tension swells, he acts in a manner liable to reopen many a wound.





	

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,_

_And sorry I could not travel both_

_And be one traveler, long I stood_

_And looked down one as far as I could_

_To where it bent in the undergrowth; (Robert Frost)  
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_297 AL_

 

 

 

 

 

 

“There is just no end to your kindness, is there, aunt?” Margaret questioned, lowering the cowl so that her red hair might greet the downward spiralling snowflakes. The slight smile which played on her lips encouraged a like response in Lyanna. She mirrored the girl’s facial expression. “I would not allow him to be sniffing at my heels.”

She nodded. “Nevertheless, Roose leads a powerful house. The Boltons have always antagonised the Starks. Might be this is our chance to heal the rift.” Margaret shook her head.

“I would sooner believe a wolf sleeping among sheep than I might the sincerity of a Bolton.” Her mother had set her firmly against the Boltons. Lyanna could not say she blamed Catelyn. She might just have done Margaret the greatest service the girl would ever receive. “If ‘tis not the father, than the son. And I do not trust that boy, Ramsay. Have you seen the look in his eyes when the doe knelt, dying? He enjoyed the suffering.”

Lyanna could not help but laugh. “That is not an argument which stands against the other one. The heir, I mean. He is somewhat softer, if that should help any.” The young girl shook her head. “Ned will not ask that you wed, my dear. Your mother certainly shan’t. And least of all I.”

“I know, aunt, but that does not make me feel the better for it. The North listens to strength.” A soft shrug shook her shoulders. “I may only be three and ten, but it is clear to me that a firm hand is needed, if I hope to rule these lands.” Lyanna considered the child. In truth, Margaret was not much of an imposing figure. Certainly she had great beauty and youth on her side, enough of both that heads would turn and heart would quiver. But never in fear, she suspected. A thoughtful sound left her lips. “I do not believe in sacrificing my own, though, aunt. If you wish to wed Lord Bolton you will do so with my heartiest well-wishes. If you do not, you are under no obligation.”

“What a thing to say. I never was under any obligation to entertain the man. I know that perfectly well, my sweet. I was merely commenting upon the fact that it could prove a beneficial alliance.” It was not as though she’d not sealed alliances before. Might be not in a manner pleasing to everyone, but she had the experience for it. And little to lose beside. “It would be useless, of course. Bolton already has an heir and I am woefully deficient in the skill of producing him more. Not that it would matter, for the boy is in good health and his bastard brother would surely slay any needy young babe should he somehow fail to follow his father at the helm of the house. Have some pity on me though, my lady, I am simply trying to be as entertained as Lord Bolton in this matter. ”

It was the girl’s turn to laugh. Tully-blue eyes blinked the amusement away. “I think we have waited long enough. Those two are bound to have reached the Wall by now.”

“Ned won’t allow them out of sight.” Lyanna lifted the hem of her skirts and winced as wetness seeped through her stockings. Her teeth chattered lightly. “We should probably see to the horses.” The horses were not likely to escape either. She simply wished to be atop the young filly she had received for her nameday. The animal was a joy to ride and her feet were aching from the cold. “We should definitely see to the horses.”

“Is that pretty filly were mine I would also be very concerned with the horses.” What else was there beside horses? Lyanna allowed her niece to tug her hand in hers. “Might be I shall be allowed to ride her one day?”

“I think that can be arranged. There, that should please you well enough for the time being, young lady. Come along now before these old feet of mine give way. I promise you, you shan’t like carrying me to the keep.” Her own hood fell backwards by that point, forcing her other hand to drop the skirts as well and tug it back in place.

“I should like having that filly for myself, aunt, I might not carry you back at all. There are more than enough mounds of snow for you to rest upon until Uncle Ned saw to the actual carrying.” And the gods knew her brother would come for her. He always did. Lyanna shared a smile with her niece.

The horses had been tethered a few feet away, behind a line of trees, more to protect them than aught else. She walked hand in hand, enjoying the brisk breeze. Her filly tugged and snorted, apparently in a mood. Margaret’s gelding had little response to that other than to neigh and shake his head. “Look at that, he is trying to temper her. I doubt he’ll have much luck of it.” He would not have much of it, of course, for the filly was young and not at all willing to be dictated to. “He should give up while he’s ahead. Should we aid?”

“We should. It would not be fair otherwise.” Thus they ganged up on the filly, with Margaret patting her neck and Lyanna mounting with little difficulty. “I will ride ahead.” The filly puffed out a steam cloud and made an annoyed sound. “Try not to fall too far behind, aye?”    

“Magnanimity seems to have run out. Very well then. I shall follow.” Lyanna did not flee from the site. It would have been rather ill-mannered despite the challenge she kept at bay. Nay, she would not challenge Margaret of all people.

“Might be I should cultivate some more of it then.” Margaret busied herself with mounting the gelding. Her tall frame easily aided. “Before my lack of it will get us in trouble. Come, niece, or I fear those two boys will have run to the Wall.” Boredom was a mighty foe. Enough to drive any young man to the edge of the realm for adventure. And heavens knew those two boys stored away a lot of boredom. No wonder they did. Sitting around all day, waiting for their grandfather to let go of his anger. They might have asked her and she would have told them that her father let go of nothing.

Leading the horses into a slow trot, Lyanna brought both herself and her into a new clearing. The snow had long since been flattened into a thin sheen of slippery matter. Her filly neighed, not at all encouraged by the manner in which her hooved feet moved against the ground. “My poor dearling, she sees this as a true challenge. Might be we should turn back.”

“Not at all, aunt. I was promised entertainment. And I will get it.” The careful crossing of the clearing commenced. When one went slowly it was not that difficult a thing to do. “Grandfather would not be best pleased if I returned the horse with a sprain, would he?”

Her father was seldom pleased. It was his nature to seek absolutes where there were none. Lyanna had convinced herself of that long ago. She nevertheless shook her head in agreement to the girl’s sentiment. “You should not worry about such things. Mt brother was an excellent horseman. You have his blood. The beast is in no danger.”

Margaret gave her a wide-eyed look. “My father was not around to teach me,” she pointed out as though to counter the argument. “I may have the blood, but. Aunt, I have seen you ride and I do not believe you would be outdone easily even by a tourney champion.”

Her cheeks heated with the surge of blood. “I learned from a stablehand, you see. He came from the Rills and hand taught Brandon as well.” But she did not have the man’s gift for teaching. Thus Margaret would simply have to be satisfied with unpolished talent. “Had he not perished, he might have taught you as well. Alas, that is the way of the world.”

“He must have been excellent with a horse.” Horses were, of course, the big passion they shared. To her great surprise that was, for she’d expected, when Margaret was born that her mother would instil in the girl a love for the fine arts. And she had, to a degree. Proficient Margaret could play the clavicymbal, knew near an incomprehensible number of lines, unfortunately of old sagas rather than the newer works sung in the South, and could sing as sweetly as the Maiden herself. She was also an excellent rider and could waste more than half her day away in the stables.

“He was. Excellent with both horse and man. It is rare to meet such a fellow.” She had indeed been fortunate. Lyanna tried to call to mind the man’s imagine. She did remember black eyes and short, curling hair. He’d seemed so very tall to her when she was a girl. And he’d had the kindest voice. If only lords were made in that mould.

“Is it not strange, how we drift closer and closer to those who, by all accounts, should be as naught to us,” Margaret mussed, tugging on the gelding’s reins.

“Who said they should?” she questioned.

“They are servants, aunt. Not our friends.” The lady tossed her hair back when it finally came spilling over her shoulders.

“That they are not, my lady. Yet despite our different stations, we owe them as much as they owe us. ‘Tis the nature of our bond. We rely on them for we haven’t more than two hands, and they reply on us because of the many mouths they seek to feed. And though it may seem a distant and cold tie, we are indeed very close. There is naught reprehensible about admiring those qualities which resonate with us. Be they met in the realm’s king or in the poorest of men.”

“I seem to have pressed a sore spot.” Despite there being no apology forthcoming, Lyanna understood she’d implied as much in her observation. And, in tune with her proclamation of grace, she nodded her head accordingly, dipping her chin a notch. “To keep in a like vein, have you thought about your good-brother’s letter?”  

“No more than one should,” Lyanna found herself answering before she could stop the words. “Stannis will not see even the dust in my wake. I am determined. If it please him, he may write a thousand more letters.” Nay, she had decided after all upon her path and she was not about to turn back. “I have burnt the letter.”

“A rather drastic measure, aunt. A letter means little.” That was not untrue. “An olive branch, however, could mean quite a lot. Are you certain you cannot overlook the dispute between the two of you?”

“Not at all. Besides, it matters naught to me which way the might stag falls.” She’d had her fill of horned beasts and, to be mind, it should last well into her old age.

“I have had a letter as well. Or rather grandfather. He has not given up and will continue in this endeavour for some time yet. It will grow to bother you.” Lyanna shrugged at the predication, though she could see the seed of truth gaining root.

“There is more than enough wood for fire. I do not expect to be left unsatisfied my own endeavour.” A huff came from her companion. Lyanna ignored it.

“I see what uncle means now when he says the wolf blood runs strong in our veins.” They’d escaped the patch of danger at long last. Lyanna dug her heels into the horse’s flanks. Margaret she reckoned did the same, for they were still shoulder to shoulder, as it were, tearing along the crude road.

Ahead, where the road forked, Lyanna could see one of the twins, hood down, waving. Where was his brother? And where was Ned? Bennard seemed to hold little intention beside remaining glued to his spot. In fact, the raven haired boy, so much different to his brother’s constant thrum, was the surface of a deep lake. She would be well advised, Lyanna told herself, to wait the other’s arrival if she wished to know.

Stopping the filly’s flight on ice, she dismounted and allowed Bennard to have the reins as she greeted him for the second time that day. “And where might your brother be?”

“With father.” The deep-blue of his eyes darkened with the passing of shadows. “We should hurry. He said to.” Ned had? Lyanna allowed surprise to mould her features. “I cannot say what waits, only that he wants us to hurry.”

It made sense that he’d sent Benard then. Cregan would have trumpeted the whole story before they’d even managed to set foot on flat earth. But Bennard, the child cradled the filly’s reins with care and reached out for Margaret’s reins as well when the girl held them out. He proceeded to bind both of a sturdy branch. Neither she, nor Margaret spoke, allowing him to diligently work through the motions. Once done, he glanced back over his shoulder, eyes landing on her.

Lyanna nodded encouragingly. “Those are good strong knots,” she said, patting his wild dark curls. The black made the flesh of her hand cadaveric. Sometimes she wanted to hug the boy to her chest and weep. He looked so much like her Steffon. But the poor babe would not understand. His brother wouldn’t either. Her brother, meantime, would not approve. Thus Lyanna buried the desire away and made do with the little contact she could allow. “I see you have been practicing.” He’d been allowed to tie horses a few times before, but each time they’d escaped. Somehow. She reckoned it had been Cregan or some other child playing a prank. It had upset poor Bennard nonetheless. “That’s a good lad.”

“They won’t get free this time,” Bennard vowed, leaning into her touch. Generally speaking, he was more receptive to her affection than his sibling. “Father showed me how to tie the knot himself.” She nodded, pleased at the enthusiasm she detected beneath the flatness of his voice. In such moments one could almost discount the features blatantly denying Ned’s claim.

“A very fine knot that is,” Margaret complimented as well. She took Bennard’s hand in her own and moved it above her wrist. “Now, my good cousin, lead the way, for I confess I cannot wait to see what uncle has in store for us.”

Replete, Bennard did as he was told. The skip in his step told well enough of his joy. Lyanna was not precisely taken aback. She set to following the two, humming to herself, so low that she was certain no one heard. The melody unfurled in her throat. It was a sweet song. Where had she heard it? As Lyanna puzzled through her memories, the two before her slowed causing her to halt as well.

“There it is,” Bennard pointed to a small group gathered near a tree. Lyanna paused her hum as well and gave her attention to the scene before them. Ned was facing her, eyes upon the boy who was pointing. “There.”

There, to where the child pointed, was a large beast, stretched on its side, gullet pierced. The snow had been tainted with blood, the coppery colour stark upon the whiteness. Margaret and Bennard hurried towards the find. She, on the other hand, approached with more caution, taking in the small lumps of fur gathered together. “This I had not expected.”

Ned shrugged and bent to pick up one of the pups. He held it out to her. “They are small and weak.” The white wolfling she held in the palm of her hand struggled somewhat. She could not help the pity blossoming in her chest. “How many are there?”

“We’ve found six in all.” Her brother did not seem bothered. Might be there was little to fear. “Direwolves behind the Wall. Who would have thought?”

Who would have thought, indeed. Lyanna cradled the pup to her bosom, feeling the small, warm body press into her. “We cannot leave them here.”

“I am well ahead of you, sister dearest.” The children were, of course, already picking out the wolf they wished for. “I reckon you shan’t give that one back.”

The wolf she held was a mite; there simply was no other word which came to mind for the pint-sized creature. The others were slightly bigger, with grey or even black fur. Hers was pure white, a needy tiny babe scraping its tongue softly against the skin of her hand. “You would not mind my keeping it.”

“I would not dare,” he laughed. “They might not even survive the winter.” Her brother’s usual optimism once more presented itself. It was not as though death was a stranger in their home, so Lyanna shrugged in response and stroked the silky dawn on the direwolf’s back. “This one need burying.” It would decompose either way. “Will you take the children back?”

“Of course.” She called the twins to her and instructed them on how to make a woollen basket. “If the cloaks should be fouled, worry not, you will have others,” she promised when Cregan raised the delicate query.

Bundled up, the pups whined softly, except for the white one. He continued to sniff and shake his head. But even the weeping babes offered no hardships. Not that Lyanna thought they might. Still, it was nice that all went according to plan for once.

“Is that one a girl as well?” Bennard questioned, patting the white head. “We found two already and Cregan says he won’t have any girls. He only wants the boys.”

“He is welcome to them,” Lyanna answered, looking at the second twin riding with Margaret. “And you?”

“I like both.”

Had the arrival been half as pleasing as the boy’s answer, Lyanna might have counted herself fortunate.

Unfortunately, what awaited her, besides the usual sour face of her father, was another letter. “Nay, fear not, my lady, Master Luwin said. “It is not your good-brother sighing for your return. The message comes from King’s Landing.”    

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
